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Emilee

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My front facing camera broke on my phone, making my already limited picture taking even MORE limited. Have a throw back from last spring. I have a blog post in the works. Life has been kinda nutty, my laptop *also* bit the dirt, and things have been kind of overwhelming. Y’all are always on my mind, though! You’ll be hearing from me soon. 💕
Classes yesterday brought to you in part by @leakycon (I don’t usually dress up for costume week, but i do try and incorporate Harry Potter to some degree 🤷🏼‍♀️)
New blog post, link in bio!
My friend Bailey and her company @companythreesixty made this and I have no more words to add. It’s perfect. #Repost @catchingbreaths with @get_repost ・・・ Why didn’t I report? I didn’t report because I thought that if I’m in a relationship with someone, it meant it was equally my fault. I thought the years of unhealthy feelings towards myself which ensued, were still invalid since it could have been worse. I thought I shouldn’t tell my Momma until a couple of years later on a beautiful mountain walk together, and even then, I softened the story from shame for how I’d appear to the person I love the most. I didn’t report because we live in a world where men use sentences like “it can always be worse” as psychological shrapnel. A world that tells us we should have done more to stop it. A world that, even when I remember the attempts to push away as clearly as consciousness cinema, I was scared to push too hard because I didn’t want to make someone mad. A world that makes me worry at sharing, because I have young students and ‘should be a role-model’: with a role model being pure, respectable, elite, undamaged. Now, a mother, wife, champion, boss... I still worry to report as innocuously as through a #WhyIDidntReport hashtag, lest I somehow appear less for having shared. But as someone who’s survived a darkness far worse than that described, and Shawshanked her way to a life of light- save for second glances over shoulders- I can say that the hardest person to report to is actually... yourself. It’s the you that you had once hoped to be. The you that you’ll never be again. The you that you wish you could go back and protect. The you you wish you had been (louder, less in shock, less weak). The you that once was but was taken. To all the Yous you once were reading this (and the You in me who still feels cemented by shame)... this should never have happened. It doesn’t matter how loud, quiet, forceful... how well you knew them.... You didn’t deserve to lose You because your body wasn’t left as yours. None of us do. None of us ever will. There is no good way to end this bit of writing, because the truth is: it hasn’t ended. A perfect sentence will not wrap this up. Y
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Teaching on my birthday is my favorite thing. Hi, I’m 30, and I gave full sized cupcakes to three year olds and I’m sure their parents hate me

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There goes a fighter.

There were a few different things from yesterday’s class that I wanted to write about.
I remembered them at the end of class, but by the time I got to where I could write it down, I had forgotten.
I can remember what I was looking at, what I was taking in of my surroundings when she said it, but I can’t remember what it was she said…
Something about gaining strength, I think.

I got upset at myself, because there were things we were doing that I know I knew and understood, but I couldn’t get my brain to process enough to actually do them. I guess now that I’ve finally accepted the fact that I’m sick, the walls have come down and it’s laying on me full force. I haven’t really been able to eat anything, and that’s especially bad on a dance day. My brain just couldn’t handle it all. It literally hurt at the end of the class.

Jilissa encouraged us. She asked us what it was that begged us to dance. Why is it that we spend so much time doing this thing? Especially us older ones, what is it that makes us keep coming back? The girls were saying, “because it feels good” as I was thinking, “It’s what makes me feel alive.” She was saying the way you talk about your time there is a direct reflection of your attitude while being there. This should be our happy place, not something we dread.
That’s just it. It is my happy place. Even when the days are really difficult and I can’t make it through.
This is what makes me feel alive. When something goes wrong, this is where I want to be. When I want to feel safe, when I want security, when I want to feel accomplished, when I desire to feel love–I want to be at the studio.
And that’s what makes this sickness that’s holding me back so much harder to deal with. Because it’s keeping me from feeling alive. It’s keeping me from feeling that sense of accomplishment, from excelling, from improving and enjoying it all. Jilissa said she could tell that as I got frustrated, it just sapped my joy right out of me.
She said we all have days like this–where we feel defeated, where we feel limited, the days we have to fight through. She asked me, “How long have you been dancing?” “Two years in October.” I replied.
Everyone reacted in disbelief. “What?!” “That’s it?” “Are you serious?” All at once.
“Well, I took when I was little, but I was taught wrong, so I don’t really consider it much…”
“Oh my goodness! That’s amazing!”

Sometimes I get so upset on how far I want to go that I forget to remember how far I’ve come.
I’ve only been in dance–where I’m learning correctly–for almost two years, and where am I? I’m on pointe, I’m in the advanced class, I’m keeping up with the big dogs mostly. After only two years.
Sure, I’m not where I want to be yet. I’m not able to go where I know I’m capable, but I’m so much farther than when I first began. I’ve overcome so many obstacles. I’ve pressed through so many difficult days. And it’s worth it.
Here comes a fighter.

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